


Jars of Clay

by ThePiesEndure



Series: Simple Plan FanFiction [2]
Category: Simple Plan
Genre: Alternate Reality, Drama, F/M, M/M, Music, Simple Plan - Freeform, not romance focussed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-25 13:41:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1650641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePiesEndure/pseuds/ThePiesEndure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The band is manufactured and the world doesn't know it. Pierre Bouvier is beginning to become disillusioned with the charade and cracks are beginning to show. </p><p>This story will be recounted by the band's closest friend and confidant, Patrick Langlois, and will document the rise and fall of one of the most beloved pop punk bands in the world.</p><p>For like jars of clay, they were broken, discarded…but Pierre isn't going to give up on them. He is going to pick up the pieces and put them back together again. To create a beautiful, real, thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ~The ending is not the beginning repeating~

_Los Angeles  
9th May 2014_  
  
Pierre called me. A first in a million years. I know. Exaggeration, but seriously. It’s not like we really had much to talk about in the last…lifetime. Not really. Not after all the lies. The betrayal. The hurt. Which, to be fair, wasn’t my fault. Nor his. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, really. Well, not anyone that actually mattered.  
  
David once said to me that it was the industry that was the problem. Profound for someone who had difficulty pinning things down at the best of times. Though at the same time not surprising, since he is a creative at heart. Pierre is too. Chuck on the other hand is a more logical person and that’s why he and Pierre clashed at the moments that counted. Seb and Jeff? Well, they were, are, a mix. And, oddly they were the least effected. Or, apparently so.  
  
Anyway… Pierre called me. Wanting to talk. About an idea he had. Oh, and the fact that it was his birthday and he wanted to catch up.  
  
 _I’m thirty-five, Pat…and none of us are getting any younger…_  His words. And, so true. Though sometimes I feel a hundred years old after everything that’s happened.  
  
I guess I’m not making much sense, am I? What am I even talking about? Well, perhaps I should start by saying that this is a story about a band. No. That’s wrong. It’s a story about five young men who thought they were a band. I mean, they were a band. But…it’s complicated.  
  
Oh, and it’s my story too. Though, I’m more a bystander than anything. Pierre would vehemently disagree with that. And so would the fans. They call me the sixth member of Simple Plan. Kind of them…and not something I take lightly.  
  
I see myself more as the person who’s here to tell  _their_  story. Makes sense, right? I was their web guy, and merch guy, and videographer, before they went all pro…well, before management pushed me out. I’m not bitter. Many would say I’d be entitled to the emotion. I gather they just didn’t want me looking too closely. Not that they needed to worry about me.  
  
Pierre Bouvier was the crack in the perfect vessel that the Label had created…  
  
* * *  
  
I was telling you Pierre called me, and I never did get to the point, did I? Well, we talked about banal things, as you do. And then Pierre dropped the bombshell.  
  
 _Chuck and I are getting together to write songs._  
  
I’m still trying to get my head around that.  
  
The traffic right now is going slow as I sit here on the highway. However, it’s still going faster than my brain. I’m on my way to Pierre’s to find out what the Hell is going on. I don’t even want to hazard a guess… it’s too shocking if I’m going to be completely honest about it.  
  
My phone buzzed at me. Shifting gears and checking my Bluetooth connection, I answered with a grunt.  
  
“Where are you?”  _Pierre._  
  
“Stuck in traffic, dude.” I grimaced at the long line of cars ahead of me, no end in sight. “I’ll be there when I can…”  
  
“Get some beer; David just rocked up in a complete mess.” Pierre sounded distracted, which wouldn’t be surprising if what he said was true.  
  
“David’s in L.A.?” I said and shook my head, squeezing the steering wheel.  
  
“Yeah. He lives here, remember?”  
  
I scratched my cheek as I finally passed the tollbooth. “I didn’t forget. He was away.”  
  
Pierre scoffed and said, “Right. Well, see you soon.” He hung up after that and I heaved a sigh as I continued to wait for the traffic to move.  
  
* * * * *  
  
A million years later… well, again, not really… and I could see the apartments where Pierre lived with his special girl. No, he hasn’t a girlfriend. I’m referring to Delilah his Chihuahua. I sat for a moment in the guest parking chewing over what I was likely to witness. And as I sat there a beat up rental pulled up next to me, and a familiar bald scalp came into view. I blinked then rolled down my window.  
  
“Stinco?”  
  
Jeff halted next to my window and smiled as he said, sounding equally as surprised, “Pat? Did Pierre call you too?”  
  
I nodded as I got out of my car. “He tell you what he’s up to?”  
  
“Yeah, and I don’t get it. But, guess we’ll find out what’s doing, eh?”  
  
Slapping my palms together, I felt like my head was going to fall off my shoulders as I made my way for the entrance.  
  
Pierre was standing there. He must’ve seen us pull into the parking bays.  
  
“Dude, where’s the beer?”  
  
I groaned, shaking my head and slapping him on the shoulder as I walked past him. “Hi to you too, Pierre.”  
  
He half smiled as he tapped his fist to Jeff’s. “Took your time.”  
  
I rolled my eyes as I took the stairs to his floor two at a time; his statement wasn’t even worth a response. And, I really just wanted to get this over with. Whatever  _this_  even was.  
  
“And you couldn’t even get the beer.”  
  
Stopping at the top of the stairs, I turned to face him, feeling this sudden wave of anger rush through me. Irrational, I know, but I had just driven for God knew how long to find out what the Hell he was up to and I was in no mood to be treated as if this was some normal visit.  
  
His pupils dilated as he must’ve seen some of what I was feeling flash across my face.  
  
“Fuck you, Bouv. I didn’t come over here to be nagged.” Pierre recoiled at my words, opening his mouth to protest; but I didn’t let him get a word in. “If you want me to stay, you could at least be civil.” I turned and stomped into his apartment, not realising a shocked David was standing just by the door.  
  
I only realised when he was suddenly wrapped around my shoulders and his too loud voice was in my ear.  
  
“Hey, dude! Dude! You’re finally here!”  
  
I smiled as I managed to extricate myself from his arms and turned to face him. David hadn’t changed, much. His hair was longer, though. And he looked older. But, didn’t we all?  
  
“David.” I couldn’t really think of anything to say, so just nodded at him. He didn’t seem fazed, though, grinning at me before spinning on his heels and heading further into the apartment.  
  
I followed him into a spacious living room, dominated by the grand piano that Pierre had purchased in a fit of passion a couple of years earlier. I remembered asking him why he bothered. He just shrugged and said he thought it looked cool…  
  
David plopped himself down on the bench, kicking his feet out.  
  
“Been a long time, man.”  
  
I nodded as I remained standing in the middle of the room. “Yeah, I never did call you.” And I felt bad about it.  
  
“You were hurt as much as the rest of us,” Pierre said as he and Jeff joined us. If that wasn’t the truth, I really don’t know what was. But, I believed I’d moved on from all that.  
  
I shook my head, slowly. “It’s no excuse, though.”  
  
Pierre clapped a hand to my shoulder and said, “Maybe not. But you always come back to us.” My brow furrowed at his words. He gave me a meaningful look as Chuck walked through the door that lead to the kitchen, carrying a case of beer.  
  
“Hey, Pat…a little help here?”  
  
I allowed myself a small chuckle as I went over to relieve him of his load. He heaved a sigh and smiled at me muttering his thanks. I nodded, setting the case down on top of the piano. David raised his eyebrows at me. I ignored him as I snagged a bottle and turned to face Chuck, and Pierre.  
  
The latter was leaning against the large windows, facing away from me, his brows down over his eyes, expression dark.  
  
“You going to talk, Bouv?” I said. His shoulders lifted as his eyes slewed toward me.  
  
“Must think I’m crazy, Pat. After what I said.”  
  
I smirked. “You and Chuck, writing.”  
  
Pierre tilted his chin down. “Oui. You know how things were between us.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. A nervous gesture, I knew. He closed his eyes then said, “We’ve come a long way from the kids we were back then…”  
  
I had to agree with that.  
  
We were too young to know what we really wanted back then.  
  
Too young.  
  
Too naïve…


	2. ~We were young and naive~

__

_Laval, Montreal_  
7th May 2001  
  
Pierre and I were sitting on our skateboards outside his house, contemplating life after college.  
  
“What’re your plans for the summer?” Pierre was smiling up at the clouds, not really paying attention to whether I would answer him or not. I wasn’t in the mood to humour him.  
  
“My parents want me to go to UQAM.”  
  
“You kidding?”  
  
“No. There’s a good Marine Biol course there.”  
  
Pierre rolled his eyes at me. “Dad wants me to go there too.”  
  
“We could go together,” I said, too enthusiastically. He cast a sour look at me.  
  
“Right. And become perpetual students? No thanks. I know what I want to do with my life.”  
  
I snorted. “You’d be the only one.”  
  
“Oh, come on. You know you want to be a rock star.” Pierre good-naturedly ribbed me, smiling again. He knew I couldn’t do anything with an instrument to save my life. I’d crashed and burned at keyboard…and when I sang, well let’s just say cats could do a better job than me.  
  
“You’d be the only one,” I repeated, kicking at my board. Pierre’s brow furrowed as it dawned on him that I wasn’t biting.  
  
“Hey, dude…what’s up?”  
  
Pierre was mercurial. He could swing from high to low in a matter of moments. But, I was used to it. I’d learned a long time ago how to work our friendship around his moods. And, he also knew how to navigate my constant calm. We were close. And that’s all that counted. He always figured out at just the right time that maybe I needed to be treated differently to him.  
  
I sighed and said, “I’m leaving at the end of the week.”  
  
Pierre blinked, once, twice. Then his expression darkened. “You’re leaving?”  
  
Nodding, I glanced sideways at my best friend. “Yeah. Off to see the big wide world.”  
  
Pierre sat down next to me, hard, and I could see the light drain from his eyes. For a moment we just sat there. A very long moment. Suns rose and set…well, not really…  
  
And then…  
  
“Take your camera.” Which was obviously the only thing he could think of saying in response.  
  
“Seriously, I’m not going to have time…”  
  
Pierre actually glared at me, daggers in his eyes. “Take the damn camera. I gave it to you.” I blinked, a little surprised by his aggression. It wasn’t like I was disappearing off the face of the earth…  
  
I said as much to him and he didn’t react too well to that. He stood up, stomped hard on his skateboard, narrowly missing my face and then stormed toward the front door of his house, yelling something about dicks at me.  
  
Like I said. Mercurial.  
  
He’d get over it. He always did. But, I was going to call our mutual friend, Chuck…just, you know, to touch base with him.  
  
Sighing, I got up and after carefully rolling Pierre’s board into the garage, I turned and rode my own board back down to my place.  
  
* * * * *  
  
“Hey, Pat!”  
  
I removed my headphones as Chuck’s head poked around the door of my room. Hadn’t even heard him come in the front door. There was no need for him to knock, we’d been running in and out each other’s houses since we were in eighth grade.  
  
“Hey, glad you could come over,” I said. He nodded as I swung around to face him. He knew this wasn’t purely a social visit. Pierre was on both our minds.  
  
“Pierre’s pissed at you?”  
  
Sighing, I nodded, glancing across at a photo that was propped on my desk. The three of us last summer with our skateboards, pulling silly faces. I looked back at Chuck. His brow furrowed as he leaned in the doorway.  
  
“You want me to talk to him?”  
  
I scoffed. “No. Let him be angry. I’m still leaving.”  
  
Chuck shook his head and walked into the room, taking a seat on my bed. I observed him for a moment. He had his head down, obviously deep in thought. He was like that, introspective, often in his own thoughts more than he was with us. I admired him for that.  
  
He met my gaze and said, “We should all do something.”  
  
“Like what? You’re not big on parties, Comeau.”  
  
Chuck rolled his eyes. “Oh, nothing like that.” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, pinching at it. “Maybe we could all meet at the skate park, kick around a bit.”  
  
I nodded, then decided to change the subject, a little. “How come he’s not mad at you?”  
  
Chuck was headed to school to do Law. Follow in his dad’s footsteps. That was kinda logical, if it weren’t for Chuck’s first love. But, I’d already attempted to convince him that he was being a stupid-head. That hadn’t worked either, but at least I didn’t get my head bitten off for it.  
  
Chuck flopped back on my bed, removing his glasses and cleaning them on his tee. “Pierre’s not mad at me because he knows this is my parents’ choice, and not something I really want to do.” He lifted his shoulders, a resigned gesture if there ever was one. “I’m keeping the peace.”  
  
I couldn’t help but snort at that. “Seriously?”  
  
Chuck looked hard at me. “Reset was fun. But, it’s time for the serious work now.”  
  
“Really?” I said, scornfully. “So,  _that’s_  why you got in a fight with Pierre and left the band?”  
  
His brows drew together as he said, “That was because of…musical differences.”  
  
“Right,” I said, shaking my head. “Keep telling yourself that, if it’ll make you feel better.”  
  
“Pat, honestly.” Chuck sighed, sitting up again. I could see the pained expression in his eyes. Knowing him, it really hurt having to push back his dreams. But, I guess we couldn’t all be dreamers. Example, I wanted to work in radio, or TV talking about what I loved. Music. And hockey. Like that would ever happen…  
  
I said, softly, “Sorry. I swear I’m not a dick.”  
  
Chuck cracked a smile as he put his glasses back on. “No, you’re an ass.”  
  
I pretended to be wounded, clutching at my chest; he grabbed one of my cushions, tossing it at my head.  
  
“Hey! That hurt!”  
  
He rolled his eyes and shifted so he sat cross-legged on the covers. “So, what to do about Pierre?”  
  
I shook my head as I dragged my fingers through my hair. He looked at me expectantly as if I had all the answers. If only…  
  
“Charles, Patrick?”  
  
We turned to see my mom standing there, cordless phone in hand. I lifted my eyebrows.  
  
“Hi, Charles,” she said to Chuck then she looked at me. “It’s Pierre.”  _Speak of the devil…_  
  
“Oh, right.” I rubbed at my nose with the flat of my palm. “What does he want?”  
  
Mom smiled. “I’m not psychic, Pat. You’ll have to ask him.”  
  
I shook my head; Chuck’s brow furrowed and he stood and said, “Let me talk to him.”  
  
I shot him a grateful look; he mouthed back at me, you owe me. I could handle that. I just nodded, leaning back on my chair. Mom looked at me questioningly as if to say, are you two mad at each other? I waved her off, so she left.  
  
Chuck leaned in the doorway as he spoke quietly into the phone. I waited, only able to hear his side of the conversation. And, let’s just say he has the patience of a saint. Saint Charles. Saint Chuck…  
  
“Pat. Pat.”  
  
I blinked as I realised I must’ve spaced out. Chuck was looking at me with a curious expression.  
  
“What?”  
  
He put the phone down on my desk. “Pierre said he was sorry. And he thinks my idea is a good one.”  
  
I rubbed at my forehead. “You mean, meeting at the park?”  
  
Chuck nodded, speaking slowly as if I was deaf. “Yeah, that idea.”  
  
“He’s sorry?” I said, making sure I’d heard correctly. It wasn’t often he’d concede like that. Chuck gave me a look that suggested I take his word for it. Then he shrugged and smiled.  
  
“You know he won’t say it to your face.”  
  
I said, “Probably not. But, I’m used to that.” That was Pierre Bouvier for you. But, we were friends and I knew his actions were a lot more important than his words. The fact that he wanted to meet up, maybe that was enough.  
  
It usually was.


	3. ~Ollie is my friend~

_2014_  
  
“I was sorry you know,” Pierre said as he finished his second beer.  
  
I was willing to concede to that. Though it had never been evident then. We were all too stubborn and proud to admit defeat to each other.  
  
“You didn’t speak to each other after Pat left,” Chuck said a little too pointedly. Pierre’s lips twisted a little, a sour look. Not that he could disagree. Not really. But…  
  
I shook my head. “That was partially my fault. I should’ve reached out.”  
  
Pierre rolled his eyes, setting his empty bottle on top of the piano. Then, nudging David to the side, he sat on the stool and ran the tips of his fingers over the keys. He didn’t respond to my statement and so I observed him for a moment, noting the concentration with which he began to play. A composition I didn’t recognise.  
  
David huffed a little his eyes darting between us; I stood with my eyes fixed on Pierre; his expression was focused on what he was doing.  
  
“You did, eventually,” Pierre said, finally looking at me with a hint of a smile.  
  
I caught David’s eye roll as I let out a soft snort and said, “Yeah, and by the time I did you were heading down a path of destruction.”  
  
“I wouldn’t go that far, Patrick.”  
  
David mouthed from behind him, “He wouldn’t go anywhere”. I made a face at him then returned my gaze to Pierre.  
  
“No? Lava had their claws sunk in you so deep.” The record label. They were subsumed by Atlantic Records in the intervening years, but the anger I felt toward them was still something I had to deal with on a daily basis. Even though I wanted to be done with it, and definitely acted as if that were the case.  
  
Pierre shook his head. “I wanted it.” There was no bitterness in his voice which surprised me somewhat, considering how angry he was as well for a long time.  
  
I crossed my arms. “It was still wrong.”  
  
“It’s not like we were the first or last band to ever be manufactured,” he said. I sighed, slapping my palm against my thigh.  
  
“True. But, it shouldn’t have happened to you.” I glanced at the rest of our friends. “To us.”  
  
Chuck nodded in acknowledgement; David lifted his shoulders in a non-committal gesture; Jeff just smiled. Pierre looked at me, expression serious.  
  
“What does Seb say to that?”  
  
I grimaced. Seb never really spoke to me about what happened with the band. Sure, he was closer to me than the rest of them – we still had our radio show together – but for all that he was even less open than Pierre was. Probably the reason why he wasn’t here with us today. Something about expanding his studio.  
  
“He was hurt more than he’ll admit,” I said, reluctant to say anything more than that.  
  
Pierre started to play again as he said, “We all got hurt. That’s no big secret.”  
  
“I didn’t help.”  
  
Pierre gave me a hard look. “You made a difference, Pat.”  
  
“I don’t see how.” And that’s the truth. I always felt like I was floundering around, grasping at things that didn’t exist. I had no idea how I managed to stay afloat in the madness. Though I never let on.  
  
It was Chuck who spoke up then, his words earnest as he said, “We would’ve lost Pierre if you hadn’t been there for him.”  
  
And, maybe that was so… though the way he’d acted when we first parted ways would have you believing otherwise.  
  
* * *  
  
 _2001_  
  
Pierre’s birthday. The skate park. A recipe for disaster. Especially considering his mood the last few days. I was hopeful. Well, had been since early in the morning. That he would be in a better frame of mind today. Tomorrow I was leaving for school. And I didn’t want to part on sour terms. His friendship meant a lot to me.  
  
“Dude, focus.” I blinked, grinning absently as Chuck waved a hand in front of my face.  
  
“Pardon?”  
  
Chuck rolled his eyes. “You weren’t even listening.”  
  
“Sorry. Is he here, yet?”  
  
“Pierre? No. But, there’s his brothers.”  
  
I looked to where Chuck was pointing. Jay and Jon Bouvier were headed our way, boards tucked under their arms. Smiling, I waved to them. Jay lifted a hand in response as he jogged the last feet.  
  
“Hey, CC.” Jay always called me that for some odd reason, called it my skating name. Whatever.  
  
“Where’s Pierre?” I asked. Jay rolled his eyes as Jon set his board down and bounced his left foot on the end of it.  
  
“Slept in as usual. But, we thought we’d come down. Last day of holidays before we head back to TO,” Jon said.  
  
I nodded and got off my own board feeling my impatience niggling at me. “Is he still mad at me?”  
  
“I will be if you keep asking that.”  
  
We all turned to see Pierre standing there sans board a crooked grin curling the corners of his lips. I don’t know what it was, a rush of relief or maybe just the chicken roll I ate earlier, but I found myself smiling back at him.  
  
“Pierre.”  
  
“Pat.” He walked up to me and literally yanked me into his arms, crushing me in his embrace. “Dude,” he said, slapping my back, “I’m gonna miss you. You know that right?”  
  
I felt my cheeks burn at his demonstrative display of affection. “Yeah, it’s not obvious at all…”  
  
Pierre just laughed as he let me go then turned to slap Chuck on the shoulder. Chuck grinned as he started to burn Pierre’s ears about the new tricks he’d learned.  
  
I observed them in contemplative silence; Chuck and Pierre had been friends since they were twelve, longer than I’d known either of them. And it definitely showed, though to begin with most people had thought it strange that two kids so different from each other would become such firm friends. But, they had a common bond: a love for music.  
  
People were even more surprised when they started a band together.  
  
Reset became relatively popular amongst our group of high school friends. They even managed to release an EP. Which I am not ashamed to say that I flogged to anyone who would listen. They were good, could you blame me?  
  
“Pat?”  
  
I blinked out of my reverie as Pierre stepped next to me and braced a hand on my shoulder.  
  
“Yeah?” I lifted an eyebrow at him. The corners of his mouth turned up in a soft smile. For a moment I thought perhaps he would apologise for what he said earlier, but instead he just slapped me lightly on the back before jogging across to his brothers.  
  
“Come on, loser,” he called back to me as he stole Jay’s board and hit the ramp. “Betcha can’t do this!”  
  
I felt a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth as I followed him, the slap of the soles of my shoes loud in my ears. I should’ve brought my camera…guess I had too many other things going through my mind that day.  
  
One of my first regrets. The first of many.

 


	4. ~Beer~

_2014_  
  
“So? You going to ask me what the deal is?”  
  
Seb paused to look at me as he was setting up our mikes. “The deal?”  
  
I shrugged, sitting at the sound desk. “With Pierre.”  
  
“No.” His answer was short, sharper than his usual tone. I sighed.  
  
Nothing upset Sebastien as much as talking about the past. He preferred to talk about what was going on currently. His music, our radio show, anything but what happened with Simple Plan. And definitely not anything to do with a Mr Pierre Bouvier. But, I figured we couldn’t avoid talking about it, especially not after what Pierre asked of me.  
  
“Want a beer?” I said as I pulled one from the case I’d brought with me. He cast me a long look before taking it with a smile.  
  
“Thanks. You got the list?”  
  
The songs we picked for each show.  
  
I nodded, handing it to him. “I approved a caller too.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“Yeah, we have an interview.” I knew I was risking a lot getting Pierre to call in. That was why I’d wanted to get Seb talking first. Would be awkward, otherwise.  
  
Seb looked at me again. “Who?”  
  
I shook my head. “You going to talk to me about Pierre?”  
  
He scowled, brows twitching as he said, “What’s there to talk about?”  
  
I crossed my arms. “Chuck and he are writing.”  
  
Seb’s look of surprise would’ve been comical if I’d had it in me to laugh about it. But, I didn’t. Instead I just gave a wan smile then leaned forward to rearrange the pens on the desk, unable look at him for too long after that.  
  
Seb shook his head, an incredulous note in his next words. “I thought they weren’t talking?”  
  
“They are now.”  
  
“Obviously.” He stood, then sat again; I could see he didn’t quite know how to react. While I waited for him I grabbed a beer for myself, but then just sat nursing it between my hands.  
  
After a few moments of silence, I smiled a little and said, “Jeff and David know.”  
  
Seb’s brow furrowed. I didn’t like that. He was always the happiest out of all us, even including David. I waited as he appeared to be processing what I said.  
  
Then he said, “So, I’m the last to know?”  
  
I nodded. “Yeah. Sorry.”  
  
“Don’t be. Not like I would’ve listened…” He sucked on his bottom lip then looked at me hard. “So, you didn’t answer my question. Who we interviewing?”  
  
Leaning back on my seat and cracking open my beer, I took a long pull of the cold liquid before answering him.  
  
“Pierre asked me to patch him through to the show, because he wants to announce his new project to the fans.”  
  
Seb blinked several times, clearing his throat roughly. “He wants...”  
  
I smiled, the corners of my lips twitching. “Him and Chuck have this plan. But, he’ll tell us about it.”  
  
Seb shifted on his seat, before frowning at me; I recognised the look. He wasn’t too pleased with me. But, he’d get over it. He wasn’t one to stay upset for long.  
  
“Trust me,” I said, drinking more of my beer.  
  
* * *  
  
Seb was speechless when Pierre ended the call. I sat back, waiting to hear his verdict. He sat blinking slowly, drinking his beer. I fiddled with the notes on my lap, giving him time to talk.  
  
He shook his head. “You knew?”  
  
Lifting my shoulders, I silently affirmed his question. He pushed up his glasses, pinching at the bridge of his nose. The tightness of his expression worried me somewhat.  
  
“What is he thinking?” Seb said, the question harsher than I thought was necessary.  
  
I said, “He wants to do things the right way, I guess.” Too late maybe. For that, but I’d picked up on the hope in Pierre’s voice, and God knew I wanted it to be like that again. Music wasn’t meant to be something that you just worked at. It was supposed to be fun. I figured that’s what Pierre, and Chuck, wanted. To enjoy the music. Just the music.  
  
Seb gave a sharp laugh. “Right. Should’ve done that ten years ago.”  
  
And, maybe we all should have. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, though. Pierre had a dream. As did I. And they were there at the right time. Like they say, wrong place…right time. Or something like that.  
  
 _2001_  
Montreal City,  
Quebec  
  
“Pierre, slow down…you what? Reset what?” Wiping sweat from my brow, I dropped the cloth I was using to clean my desk. Two months in this hole of an apartment and the only thing I had worth anything was the ancient desk I’d found in a dumpster. Last night, my roommate and I christened it with the best Jack we could find – stolen from his father’s stash. Literally. We didn’t drink any of it, the new-old furniture had it all, greedy piece of wood.  
  
Pierre was calling, he did every week, same time – five in the evening. We’d go over the usual pleasantries, talk about family, friends…just normal everyday catch-up banter. But, today was different. Pierre was shitting himself. I’d never heard him so…excited about anything before. ‘Less you counted when Reset first started. But, this was beyond that.  
  
He sounded a little drunk, his words slurred down the other end of the line. “Lava, Patrick…you know it?”  
  
Frowning, I saw visions of volcanos erupting, you know, like Mount Venus or whatever it was we learned in Geography. I never paid any attention.  
  
“Lava?” I said, clueless.  
  
Pierre seemed to sober up, his voice sharper as he said, “Yeah. The record label. Some of their reps were at a Reset gig.”  
  
“Oh.  _Lava_.” They were a new label. I hadn’t heard much about them. But, then I didn’t listen to much music anymore. Too much squid ink on the brain or something.  
  
“Yeah. Chuck spoke to them. They’re interested in us. Can you believe it?”  
  
I smiled, absently, trying to get the beer smell from my desk. “You’ve always been good.”  
  
“Yah. We gotta meet with them this Sunday. Discuss things.”  
  
I smirked. Pierre wasn’t good at discussing things. He just wanted things to happen.  
  
“Good luck with that,” I said. “Honestly, I’m pleased for you.” The sound of the front door opening heralded the arrival of my roommate. “Look, I gotta go, Bouv.”  
  
Sebastien Lefebvre stepped into the room, lifting his eyebrows at me as I ended the call. “Pierre?”  
  
I smiled, nodding as he set a fresh carton of beer on the desk. “Is that for us to drink?”


	5. ~Look at this photograph~

_2014_  
  
Squinting through the viewfinder, turning the lens, I concentrated on the bowl of fruit sitting on Pierre’s kitchen table.  
  
“You never asked why Chuck changed his mind,” he said.  
  
I took the shot, before answering Pierre. He was leaning against the doorframe, watching me. I set the camera down on the table.  
  
“It wasn’t news to me. Chuck didn’t want to become a lawyer.”  
  
Pierre shifted his weight, soles of his shoes squeaking on the lino. “I don’t remember ever calling you, either.”  
  
I looked at him. “Selective memory.” Picking up an apple, polishing it against my shirt I stood for a moment then added, “Easier to tell myself, tell everyone, we didn’t talk. I wasn’t really interested in what you had to say back then.”  
  
Pierre crossed his arms, frowning, and said, “Distracted?”  
  
I shrugged. “That was the last time we spoke, Pierre. For like a year.” I bit into the apple, wincing a little at the sour taste that burst in my mouth. If that wasn’t fitting considering my sudden mood change. Swallowing, I tossed the apple in the trash. “It was stupid.”  
  
Pierre said, “You went off on some trip, chasing whales, or something?” Trying to assuage my guilt, perhaps.  
  
I laughed, said, “Trawling for some common crayfish. Not so much fun.”  
  
He pushed away from the doorframe, walking over to me. A sinking feeling in my gut as he pressed a hand to my shoulder. His touch too intimate. I pulled away. His brow furrowed.  
  
“Pat. Don’t take all the blame. I was a dick too.”  
  
Yeah. Right. A total dick. I didn’t say the words though. “What do you think of this shot?” Turning away from him, I framed the fruit bowl between my hands. His sigh behind me held a lot of meaning. I could hear the ‘I don’t give a fuck about the fruit’ in the sound. But, so what? I wanted to talk fruit, and photos, and easy shit like that. Otherwise we’d have to talk about his plan, which I still wasn’t ready to discuss.  
  
“You setting up a showcase?” Pierre’s bored tone got to me.  
  
Turning to face him, I started to tell him off, but the smirk on his lips gave me pause. “I just like taking photos of fruit.”  
  
His smile widened. “What about photos of me, babe?”  
  
I rolled my eyes, setting the camera down again. “You’re not the best model.”  
  
Pierre’s lips twitched. “Seb was better, eh?”  
  
Sebastien had shown up at my apartment, when I’d placed an ad on the University noticeboard. He’d been a surprise, not least because he came from our neighbourhood. His older brother, Jay, went to school with Pierre. _It’s a small world, after all…_  And he was studying the same thing as me. Seb, not Jay.  
  
“Possibly. Look. That was an insane year.” I shifted the fruit bowl and said, “First year, and they asked me to edit the Uni tabloid.”  
  
Pierre, chuckling, said, “I saw some of the photos you took. That’s why I asked you to do the band shoots.”  
  
I nodded slowly then heaved a sigh, leaning against the edge of the table. “The band…” I couldn’t get out what I wanted to say about the band. Guess I was still reeling over Pierre’s recent pronouncement.  
  
“Chuck wants you to do the shoot for this new project,” Pierre said. Blinking, I said nothing. I’d do it. That was a no brainer. I wouldn’t turn Chuck down. Or Pierre for that matter. I didn’t think I needed to say anything, though. It wasn’t really a question of whether I would do it, it never had been. That camera might as well be glued to me at any rate.  
  
“Sure.” I lifted my shoulders, a non-committal gesture.  
  
Pierre clapped a hand to my shoulder again. “Thanks. I’ll…uh…leave you to your fruit.”  
  
I flipped him off as he walked out the door.  
  
* * *  
  
I sat at the kitchen table photos arrayed out in front of me. It was an hour later and I hadn’t made any move to pick up the phone. To call Chuck. It was difficult to muster up the motivation I needed, and so I was looking at my back catalogue. Shots of UQAM. Sebastien and his brother Jay. Of my ugly mug, even. Seb stole my camera and snapped candid shots of me, reading text books in the quad. Yeah, riveting stuff.  
  
This sucked. I couldn’t bring myself to go further. I needed to call Chuck. Pushing the photos away to deal with later, I stood and snagged my phone, punching in his number.  
  
He answered on the second ring.  
  
“Patrick?”  
  
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Hey, man…Pierre said you wanted the photos done.”  
  
“Yeah. You did say yes, right?” Chuck was being cautious, which I was grateful for. But, I knew my answer, so it mattered not.  
  
“I did. But, I still don’t get it.”  
  
“Nothing to get, mate. When works for you?”  
  
I glanced at the calendar on the wall, though there wasn’t anything written there. “Free all week.”  
  
Chuck’s laugh made me smile. “Tomorrow then?”  
  
“Sure. I’ll come over first thing.”  
  
Chuck laughed louder this time. “Come around at lunch time. Pierre won’t even be awake.”  
  
I scoffed. “Chuck, he has two kids. He’ll be awake.”  
  
Hey, I said he didn’t have a  _girlfriend_. He’s married. So, yeah…he’s the one who jokes that his special girl is his dog. He  _actually_  has three very special human females in his life. His wife and two daughters. But, yeah…there’s no way he’d still be asleep at lunch time.  
  
“Right,” Chuck said. “Come round when  _you’re_  awake.”  
  
That was more the issue, wasn’t it? Though I was about to pick up the breakfast slot at the studio, so I guess I could say bye-bye to lie-ins.  
  
I hung up with Chuck after a little more talk, then returned to my photos.

 


	6. ~Media works for me~

_ _

_Chuck’s Bungalow_  
  
“How many shots do you want?” I said as Chuck was trying to get his tie straight. Pierre looked up from his phone where he was checking social media. I caught his expression and laughed. “Stupid question?”  
  
“Uhuh. Take as many as you think, Pat. We trust you,” Pierre said, smiling.  
  
Chuck added, “These are just preliminary. We’ll need to do a proper shoot with the others once we’ve reached out to a couple of stations.”  
  
Nodding, I set my camera on top of the tripod, squinting through the viewfinder. Pierre’s profile filled the shot, and I felt an inexplicable thrill race up my spine. As much as we joked about how photogenic he was not, I’d always enjoyed taking shots of Pierre. He knew how to work the camera and always played up to me when I asked for it.  
  
Pulling back, I framed him between my hands; he looked up as I did, his gaze meeting mine. The corner of his mouth pulled up a little, a glimmer of the old Pierre shining through. I ducked behind the camera, not wanting to get drawn in. Too close…  
  
“You need me to move, Pat?” Pierre’s voice was low. I blinked, then shook my head.  
  
“No, that’s perfect.”  
  
Pierre scoffed, returning his concentration to his phone.  
  
Chuck joined me, leaning in to look at the screenview. “Going for the casual look?”  
  
I murmured something in reply, without taking my eye off the shot.  
  
Pierre’s brow furrowed as I kept watching; there was something endearing about his expression, but that wasn’t the only thing I was noticing. The dark stubble that was forming along his jawline, the tightening of his lips, all of it was a foil for my camera. The glow of his phone screen gave his features a sallow cast, but that worked to my advantage.  
  
I got off a couple of shots before Pierre looked over once more, the last shot becoming a blur. The line between his brows was still there.  
  
“Something up, Bouv?” I asked.  
  
Pierre lifted his shoulders as he tucked his phone in a pocket. “Just remembering how focused you get.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“You kinda get in this zone.” He smiled, tapping his fingers against his cheek. I just blinked at him. His soft chuckle made me want to throw something at him; I really don’t know why. Maybe it was just his whole attitude that I still didn’t quite understand.  
  
Chuck said something that I didn’t quite catch, but it didn’t really matter as Pierre motioned him over so I could take more shots.  
  
He was right, though. I was in my element when I was behind the camera. Made me wonder, not for the first time, why I was on the other side these days. That’s a whole other story, though…because from the beginning photography was my passion…  
  
 _UQAM  
July 2001_  
  
The aroma of freshly dissected prawns was not my favourite thing. So, getting out of the lab was the first thing I needed to do, and then finding where the University paper was produced was the second.  
  
Seb mentioned to me just after I arrived that they were in need of a photographer, and I thought I could offer my services. Especially since Seb kept telling me I’d be mad not to pursue it, considering that was my true passion. Couldn’t blame him for thinking that. My camera was like an extra appendage. I never went anywhere without it, just so I was ready for that perfect shot.  
  
Asking several students to point me in the right direction, I finally came upon the media production room. Not that I would even call it that. Looked more like the janitor’s closet, and that was being kind. Space was a commodity in a university, and obviously the status of the Uni paper was low enough to warrant closet-like space for it. The sign above the door appeared to be cut out of one of those Styrofoam crates and penned in permanent marker: Uni Tabloid HQ.  
  
I shook my head, peering through the doorway.  
  
“Lost are ya?” The accent was a surprise. Australian. Female.  
  
I blinked as my eyes focused in the dim light. The girl sitting on a crooked wooden stool, ink stains on her face, wild hair, gave me pause.  
  
“Is this the Uni paper?”  
  
“Well, it’s not the loo,” she grinned, pushing up the glasses that had slid down her nose. I nodded a little; that probably said a lot more about the paper than it didn’t.  
  
“Heard you were needing a photographer?”  
  
The girl smiled as she stood. “Who’s asking?”  
  
I shifted my camera and held out my hand to her, which she took without hesitation. “I’m Patrick. Patrick Cunningham.”  
  
Her eyebrows lifted a little. “That doesn’t sound Canadian.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“You’re Canadian, right?”  
  
I laughed. “Oh, no. That’s my dad’s name. My mom’s the Frenchie. Langlois.”  
  
She blinked. I know, confusing. It wasn’t until later that I changed to my mom’s name. When I got back to Montreal…  
  
“Right. Well, I’m Mare Bramley. Writer, editor, sometime journalist student,” she said with giggle.  
  
“And you’re Australian?”  
  
She scrunched up her face. “Lived there for several years, can’t get rid of the accent. Born in Vancouver, though.”  
  
I smiled, lifting my camera to take a shot of her; what can I say? It was like breathing for me. She pulled a face at the last second, causing me to laugh.  
  
“Hey, don’t take photos of me,” she pushed my camera down as she spoke, but I could see the smile in her eyes.  
  
“So, you need a photographer?”  
  
Mare sighed, brushing a lock of hair from her face. “Our last one left in protest.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“He dropped out of school. So, it wasn’t really anything to do with the paper.” She shrugged. “He didn’t have the passion, anyway.”  
  
I nodded at that; passion was important as far as I was concerned. “Well, maybe I could help you out there?”  _Patrick CC Cunningham to the rescue_ … yeah, right…I’m no hero.  
  
Mare sat on her stool again and pointed at my camera. “Photography student?”  
  
“Marine Biology.”  
  
“And you’re wasting your time down here? Should go shoot whales.”  
  
Rolling my eyes at her choice of words, I countered, “I prefer working with people, to be honest.”  
  
Mare crossed her legs at the ankle, nodding as she pulled a pencil from her hair and scribbled on a notepad. “Patrick, right?”  
  
“Yeah.” This one pays attention…  
  
She looked at me, her gaze piercing. “Got any samples?”  
  
I blinked then frowned a little. “How many people you got lined up?”  
  
Lifting her shoulders, she giggled again. “I like looking at photos.”  
  
Her giggling was somewhat affecting and I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I took the easy route and said, “I don’t have my portfolio on me. But, if you’ve got any free time between classes I could meet you somewhere and show you?”  
  
Mare tapped her pencil against her bottom lip before scribbling on her pad again, tearing off a corner of the page and handing it to me. I blinked at it, noting the numbers scrawled there.  
  
“My number. Call me and we can tee up a time. I gotta get to class now.”  
  
I opened my mouth then closed it again. Girls didn’t give me their number. Not that I gave girls my number either…but I was surprised. She giggled some more before slipping off the stool and moving to grab a set of keys from a hook next to the desk.  
  
“Call me.”  
  
Maybe I would…


	7. ~Kevin Lyman~

Warped Tour. My favourite place to be in the whole world. Well, besides being with my wife and kid. Oh, I didn’t mention my family, did I? Mare and I dated for years, had a crazy little boy called Benjamin, and just recently got married. So, yes that’s the short version of my life story. Ha.

Anyway, Warped Tour. Why am I bringing it up? Because, Kevin Lyman called me. Yes. The man himself. Why? Well, for some reason he wanted to get in touch with the guys in the band and I guess he thought I was the best person to call, since the label wouldn’t get back to him. Not surprising since they pay little attention to the band these days.

But, Simple Plan have always been on Kevin’s radar. He supported them over the years, even though he _knew_ as much as anyone the status of the band.

Did it bother him that they were not real like the rest of the bands on his tour? It sure did and it was always a surprise to Chuck and the others that they were always invited back again and again.

It was Kevin, though, who told me when he called that he knew that deep down there was something very raw to the guys that deserved exposure. He’d also heard the MOTH broadcast when Pierre called in – Kevin Lyman listened to my show…wow… - and figured he wanted to do whatever he could to help.

I hesitated, though. Needed to make a few calls first before I made a decision. He understood that.

Chuck. Then Pierre.

Chuck would be easy. He loved Kevin. Back in the day at Warped, whenever the band had some down time, you would find the two of them in the catering tent talking about bands and music production and whatever else. Hockey, I think. So, yes…he’d be easy.

Pierre, though. It wasn’t that he disliked Kevin. I think Pierre was just jaded about the whole touring thing. He got burnt quite a lot by management due to their expectations.

On second thoughts…perhaps Pierre was the one I needed to call first.

Yes. To call Pierre.

* * * * *

“Kevin Lyman?” Pierre’s voice held all the incredulity that I’d expected.

I laid my head back against the wall, fingers tightening on my phone a little. “Yeah. He wants to do lunch this weekend. You up for it?”

“Lunch?” The repetitiveness might have gotten me except for the tone that Pierre was using. Almost relenting…almost curious.

“If that suits?” I was still willing to give him an out, though.

“Why?” Pierre’s voice tightened.

I shrugged, even though he couldn’t see me. “He just wants to catch up.”

“Really?” And there was the disbelief again.

I sighed. “Yeah.”

“Chuck know about this?” The edge in Pierre’s voice got to me, because of course he knew I wouldn’t have called Chuck first. Not this time.

“Haven’t told him, yet.”

“Uhuh.” A pause. Not a long one. “Okay. I’ll be there.”

“What?” _It couldn’t be that easy…could it?_

“I’ll be there. For _lunch_.” The emphasis on the final word left no doubt that he was going to reserve judgement until after the meeting.

“Ok. Good.” _Ok. Good?_ I shook my head as I ended the call. That was easier than I’d anticipated. Then again…it was his idea to start writing again, wasn’t it? Perhaps he was ready to entertain the thought of doing something more with it? I wasn’t going to overanalyse it…

I needed to call Chuck.

* * * * *

“Did you even have to ask?”

I shouldn’t have been surprised by Chuck’s willingness to catch up with an old friend. But, I guess with Pierre’s own readiness I wasn’t going to make assumptions anymore.

“Just wanted to make sure…”

Chuck’s laugh warmed my heart. “Of course, let Kevin know I’m happy to meet up.”

I let out my breath, realising I was more relieved than I was probably willing to admit. “That’s great. Good. I’ll let him know.”

“Does Pierre know?” And wasn’t that the important question. I was glad to be able to inform Chuck that his friend was on board, with lunch at least. Chuck wasn’t entirely surprised by that.

“He’ll come around, Pat.”

“To what, Chuck? What do you think Kevin might propose?”

Chuck laughed some more. “What do _you_ think? He’s the organiser of one of the biggest music festivals in the US.”

I shook my head, chagrined. “I know that.”

Nothing more needed to be said. Instead a silence settled between us over the line as I believe we both remembered our first experience of _that_ festival.

~~~~~~

_Warped Tour, Buffalo  
August 2002_

Sweat trickled from my hairline, obscuring my vision as I was aiming the camera towards the stage. Pierre was leaning out toward the crowd, eyes too bright, sweat running in rivulets down his own face.

Not for the first time, I wondered how I even ended up here. We still weren’t talking.

I was here, because somehow the label, Lava, got wind of the fact that I was a photographer. And, I knew the guys. So, they somehow wheedled me into being the official photographer for the band at a lower cost than anyone else they could hire. In hindsight, I should’ve charged more. But, I was naïve. Though it didn’t take me long to figure that out. A week, I guess. Too late, though. And since I wasn’t really talking to the band…I couldn’t negotiate a higher fee.

Why wasn’t I talking to them? Because I was stubborn.

Pierre’s gaze shifted toward me at that moment, those dark eyes narrowing at me through the lens; he flipped the bird in my direction then moved away in a spin. I flushed behind the camera, but shook it off, concentrating on doing my job.

Why take it personally when he was obviously enjoying himself. It wasn’t as if he was the one who had dropped his dreams down the drain… though, to be honest I loved being behind the camera, capturing and immortalising these moments on film. It was a thrill. I thrived on it. That’s why I took the job on the Uni paper. To be able to capture students’ special moments. The University’s moments. The scandals, the good news, whatever came my way. I even took my camera with me when I went on that trawler. Lot of interesting people to take pictures of on a trawler; those rough, rugged men…

“Pat?” Twisting my head around, I realised the band had finished. Chuck was standing behind me, a tired, yet happy, expression on his face.

“Hey…” I was guarded. Could you blame me?

His smile disarmed me though. “Get some good shots?”

I nodded, lowering the camera. That I could be honest about. “Yeah. Management should be pleased.”

Chuck tilted his head to the side as he didn’t respond to that and instead, said, “Wanna come meet Kevin Lyman with me?”

Blinking, I nodded, stupidly. “Sure.” Not sure why he was approaching me to go see the festival’s organiser, I followed him anyhow.

On the way, we bumped into Pierre and to say that it was an acrimonious meeting was putting it mildly. The hostility from him was unmistakeable. He was all tight words and hard looks; I’d never seen him so prickly before. Not towards me.

I didn't understand it and that pissed me off. In fact, it irked me so much so that I felt I needed to say something. So, I did.

“You know what, Bouvier? You don't need to be such a dick. I'm just doing my job.”

Pierre was taken aback; I saw his pupils dilate. I didn't stick around to wait for a response, though. Chuck had already gone on so I hurried after him.

Later I was to learn that the label had planted the notion in Pierre’s mind that I was only doing this for the money. And maybe that was the original motivating factor, but after seeing them play that changed. For all that the label controlled them, even then, when they were on stage you could almost forget that was the case. They definitely did not feel manufactured.

Kevin Lyman certainly seemed to feel the same way about them. Which I found out when Chuck and I found him in the catering tent.

To say he gushed about Simple Plan would only be a slight exaggeration on my part. It sure felt like he had a lot of praise for the band. Not unfounded. Not undeserved. But, still shocking since a lot of their worth was based on what management promoted. It didn’t seem to bother Chuck, though. He lapped it up. I was more reticent.

However, I fell in love with Kevin Lyman nonetheless.

~~~~~~

“You guys have something special about you that I can't ignore.” Kevin was as effusive as ever when we all sat down to beers and vegan burgers. There was no preamble at all, no pleasantries. I think we all knew why we were meeting. Even if it wasn't said aloud.

Pierre’s deep chuckle was heartening to say the least. “Not the first time you've said that, Kevin.”

Kevin lifted big shoulders a genial smile on his lined features. “I speak only the truth.”

I sat back, content to listen. Facilitating this meeting was all I was here for. This was between Pierre, Chuck and Kevin.

“You heard my interview on MOTH?” Pierre asked, voice soft. Kevin inclined his head in the affirmative. Chuck spoke up.

“What do you think?”

Kevin smirked. “About you guys writing again? Impatient to hear what you have to offer. Excited about the possibilities.”

Chuck nodded. “A showcase at the next Tour.” It wasn't a question. And I wasn't even startled by it.

Pierre’s sharp response did, though, startle me. “No. Not that.”

We all looked at him. “Why not?” Chuck.

Pierre shook his head, gaze dark. “Too soon.”

“What do you mean? Warped isn't until July. August?” Chuck’s voice rose a little. It was Kevin who was the cool head in this moment though.

“I got you. You need to make your case to Atlantic first.”

Pierre leaned back in his chair, smiling a little. “Yeah. They're not going to like it. But, I'm determined to do this the right way. No more lies. No more…before.”

Chuck relaxed as well; I knew he wanted this to work. I think he was just anxious. I had always been hopeful, but the realisation that Pierre was finally coming to his own decision as to how this was going to work out…it was even better than I’d hoped.

Part of me felt bad for doubting him. But, that couldn't be helped. It was the past. This was now.

Kevin spoke up again. “So, tell me, what can I do to help?”


End file.
